


Know Your Enemy

by Stripe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stripe/pseuds/Stripe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2413. Mankind is in an endless struggle against the troll empire, the military controls the government, and every day the news reports details of another intergalactic skirmish.</p><p>John Egbert has just been admitted to Scratch Academy.</p><p>[on indefinite hiatus]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orientation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the project that I have informally dubbed "Dystopiastuck." This plot has been incubating in my head for at least the past three months, so I'm really excited to finally be bringing you all the first chapter!
> 
> Also I apologize in advance for the art, but I've always wanted to do an illustrated story, so an illustrated story is what you get.

  


“Welcome to Scratch Academy.” 

As with every year before, the dining hall of Scratch Academy had been reorganized into a makeshift auditorium. Every table was pushed to the edge of the room, and every chair was lined up in neat, ordered rows, facing the front where the headmaster and namesake of the school – Doctor Scratch himself – stood. He waited with the utmost patience as the new crop of students began to settle down and come to attention.

Scratch had founded his Academy fifty years ago. It was the top Academy in the world; highly selective, the portraits of its notable alumni lined the halls. To go to Scratch Academy was to be assured a promising future, to have your name known world-wide. This was in part due to the man himself, who was famous not only for his political prowess, but for his ability to handpick those with the potential to go far. He found at least one in every incoming class, and by the way he carefully scanned the face of each new student, it was clear that he was already beginning his selection.

He coughed once, twice; a signal his speech was about to begin. Nobody said a word. He smiled, then began to speak in a calm, soothing voice, thick with dignity and wisdom. “It is always wonderful to see a new batch of fresh young faces entering my Academy,” he said. “I trust that your stay here will be quite pleasant, as I try to see to it that I, and by extension my staff members, are the most excellent hosts we can be...” 

With this, he turned on his heel and began to slowly pace in front of the cafeteria, watching with notable satisfaction as every set of eyes followed his movements. “Of course, before we can truly look forward to the bright future of your studies, I believe it is imperative to look back on the past, to pinpoint why your continued education is necessary to the continued existence of our civilization.” A small groan ran throughout the student body, though it was quickly stifled as the students remembered who was speaking to them. “Yes, yes,” Scratch continued. “I realize this is old news, but I promise that there will be a little... surprise.”

A few whispers passed throughout the audience, the weight of his presence temporarily overwhelmed by the temptation of the unknown. He waited for silence before he continued.

“Now, let’s begin with a look back at our shared history. As I’m sure you know, it was nearly four hundred years ago when humankind first made contact with extraterrestrials. And, as I’m sure you also know, they were not the most hospitable species. Trolls.” 

A pause, to let this sink in. An almost tangible shudder ran through the audience by mention of the word alone. There was hardly need for clarification, but he granted it nonetheless. “Natural enemies, of course. A warlike species, intent on taking over our planet, still only in the adolescence of space exploration. Their technology was superior, but our will was stronger, and after learning from our first few losses, we began to push back.”

He stopped walking now, stopping in the center of his makeshift stage, staring dead ahead. “Yes, I emphasize that learning was our salvation. We learned new technologies, learned new strategies, learned their weaknesses. Without such a capability, our planet and our race would surely be lost by now. In order to maintain the ingenuity of our predecessors, of course, Academies such as the one you sit in now were established. Places for our young to learn and train in the art of the war they will be set to inherit.”

The students hung on his every word. It wasn’t new information, of course, but there was a certain weight to it now, knowing that this conflict would soon be the central focus of their lives. The Doctor allowed a small smile to cross his face once again, and he resumed his pacing from before, allowing them a chance to breathe. “But of course, in your time here, you will learn more than the art of war. You will be enlightened in the ways of human culture, in literature, history, science, and mathematics. Your horizons will be expanded beyond war, so that when the time comes for you to focus, you do so a wiser person.

“Now, do not take this to mean that your education will not prepare you for the times ahead. We are, first and foremost, a military academy. As such, you will learn how to defend yourself and how to use a gun. You will learn to respond to proper rank and how to take orders. And most importantly, at your time at Scratch Academy, you will be taught to know who the enemy is.”

Doctor Scratch stopped dead center again, but rather than adding another point to his speech, he signaled towards an open door. On cue, two armed guards walked out, escorting what at first glance appeared to be a sickly girl. However, as she was lead to the center of the stage, next to the headmaster, it became all too clear what she was.

“This is the enemy.” 

The girl was not human. Her skin was an unearthly gray, her eyes a glaring yellow. Her dark, wiry hair formed an ugly nest around her head, and two of her fangs jutted out past her bottom lip. She may have looked human at first glance, with her small stature, fragile features and even the way she seemed to tremble with fear between the guards, but there was no denying the obvious.

This was a troll.

Doctor Scratch began to pace in circles around her, slow and deliberate. “I realize that not all of you have seen a troll in person before; our military has done its job to keep them off of our planet. But as you may have heard, a group of them recently landed in this very city, intent on overthrowing our government. An ingenious plan, really. A small group, so that they might go unnoticed as they confronted the head of our civilization face to face.” He stopped, towering over the troll. She looked up at him, eyes like headlights. “But of course, we stopped them. And now they are our captives.” He continued walking.

“Now, I realize that this troll here is not the image that many of you have formed of our nemesis. There are a few clever posters going around, painting them as a uniform race of grotesque monsters. But they are much like us, with varying appearances and abilities. They would not be such worthy adversaries otherwise.” He stopped again beside the troll girl, though he turned faced the student body.

“But I want all of you to remember one thing. No matter what a troll looks like – if it looks young, or helpless, or weak – it is still dangerous. It is still the enemy. This one alone could kill everybody in this room, if we allowed it free. There is really only one thing to do with them, and all of you would do well to remember it.”

  


In one motion, much swifter than any man his age should have been capable of, Doctor Scratch pulled out an old-fashioned pistol. He placed it to the troll’s temple, and her eyes widened in alarm. She struggled against the guards holding her and began to speak in a decidedly alien language, comprised of incomprehensible clicking and growling. There was a kind of desperation behind it, understandable even without words, but there was nothing she could do. Her hands were shackled behind her, and the two guards on either side of her were more than enough to overpower her.

She gave a pleading look to the students, but they remained seated and silent. Nobody stood to help her, but of course they wouldn’t. She was a troll, and Doctor Scratch was right. There was only one thing you did with trolls.

“Kill them.”

He pulled the trigger.

The body hit the ground with a dull, sickening thud, and the tile floor was splattered with bits of green blood. One girl in the front row let out a small shriek, and quickly covered her mouth to stifle it; most everybody else looked on with mixed amounts of shock, horror, and fascination. Doctor Scratch bent over for a moment to be sure that the troll was truly dead, after which he made a motion to the two guards to carry the body out. 

He continued to talk after that – explain how classes would work, when meals would be held, general expectations, but hardly anybody could pay attention. Not after that. The rapt attention that had been granted to the headmaster had dissolved into frantic, excited whispering. Who could focus on the details of an academic year when an alien had just been killed before their eyes?

And sitting among them, nestled in the crowd between his three best friends in the world, was John Egbert, who was trying very hard to ignore a growing, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.


	2. Visitation

The night after Orientation, once all of the “official” business had been taken care of, John sat in his room with his friends. It was the first time all four of them were in the same physical room as one another, and though they had been in chat rooms with full video and audio before, there was something refreshing about being able to actually reach out and touch one another. Everybody had received a minimum of three hugs from Jade since arriving on campus, and there was no doubt that she had yet more to give.

John sat on his bed, legs swinging over the edge. He shared his room with Dave; they had requested one another as roommates as soon as they knew they were going to the same Academy, and Rose and Jade had done the same. Already the room had been decorated with a mixture of ironically shitty photographs and retro movie posters. The only thing left to unpack was John’s computer; he’d found no pressing need for it now that his closest friends lived mere seconds away. Jade was seated on the box it had been shipped in and Rose sat next to her, in Dave’s chair. Dave was sprawled out across his bed, idly staring at the ceiling as they talked. 

Their conversations spanned everything expected – how much (or little) they would miss home, what they thought about the other students, what they might do with their futures. It felt as though they were somehow making up for lost time, even though they were already accustomed talking to one another every day. Even though he was exhausted, John had never felt happier.

But despite the joy of seeing his friends in person, Doctor Scratch’s first “lesson” weighed heavily on John’s mind. Something felt wrong about it, but he couldn’t place his finger on what. When the conversation reached another lull, he decided to direct it. “So what do you make of that troll they killed today? Pretty brutal, if you ask me.” 

Rose raised an eyebrow, Jade’s grin fell, and Dave put forth the effort to sit up. Nobody spoke. John swallowed, surprised at the sudden silence. Obviously he was not the only one with some opinions on the Orientation, though he was beginning to doubt that the others would be helpful in figuring out what was wrong about it. Still, he continued. “I mean, all that green blood anywhere... Kind of a sick way to start off the school year.”

“What, you squeamish?” Dave asked. With his pasted-on poker face it was hard to tell whether he was asking out of concern or trying to make John sound weak.

“It wasn’t the blood,” John amended. “I just mean, did they really have to kill her in front of all of us? Was there an actual reason for it? It felt so...” He trailed off, unable to find the proper word to finish the thought. Disgusting? Horrifying? Neither felt right.

“So what?” Dave asked, and despite his level tone, there was an extra edge to his voice that made John uneasy. “We’re in a war with the entire fucking species – of course you kill them. It’s like adding peanut butter to a jelly sandwich. Just the natural cycle of things.” 

“Hey, I’m allergic to peanut butter,” John pointed out, acting as though that changed something. Dave ignored him. 

“Look, they don’t show us mercy, so we’ve got no reason to show any to them.” His mouth was drawn into a tight, controlled frown. “That’s what we’re here to learn. You see a troll, you shoot to kill. No question. We were going to have to learn it sooner or later, so might as well do it sooner. Hell, I’m glad we got to see it on the first day, guts and all. Thing got was coming to it.”

John’s face fell. This was not the wise-cracking Dave he had spent the rest of the day with, the one who had been in the room literally minutes ago. This Dave spoke with the impassive facade of a fully fledged soldier, completely unbefitting of somebody who was by all accounts still just a kid.

But of course the trolls had always been a sore topic with Dave. Nearly everybody had lost some family member to the war but Dave had lost everybody. His parents, his brother, his entire extended family. Jade at least had her grandfather, the war hero, but Dave became a child of the foster system. 

Everyone knew that foster kids made the best soldiers. 

John looked awkwardly at his feet – of course Dave would agree that killing a troll was the right thing to do. It was dumb to bring it up in the first place, and John was all but ready to change the topic to try and save face. Before he had the chance, however, Jade jumped into the conversation, leaning forward as though to physically place herself as the center of attention. “But it doesn’t matter if they’re the enemy,” she countered, brow furrowed. “That’s still a terrible way to die! How would you feel if your last minutes of life were spent in front of a bunch of aliens, just so you could be used as an example?”

“Yeah, like trolls can feel anything,” Dave scoffed.

“You know they do!” Jade’s retort came so quickly that John couldn’t help but be taken aback. Didn’t she realize she was talking about a troll? “You could see it right on her face! Just because they’re our enemies doesn’t mean we need to treat them like animals. And I know that they have to kill her, but there was no reason to-”

“Jade.” Rose cut her friend off, eyes narrowed carefully as she cast a cautious glance to the side. “Be careful what you say; the walls have ears.”

Jade’s mouth opened – clearly she had a lot more to say on the matter of troll feelings – but she hesitated. Rose had a point. She bit her lip and sunk back in her seat, arms crossed against her chest.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, and John chose to take advantage of it. It was time for a change of subject, pronto. “Hey, guys, I got that Cage flick that they rescued from the archives recently – maybe we could watch it all together?”

This, at least, was met with a unanimous, “No.”

\------------------------

It took only two weeks for John and his friends to fully settle into life at Scratch Academy. Their schedules adapted very quickly to the norm; wake up at six, breakfast together, classes, lunch at noon, training, dinner at seven, then a retreat to one of the two rooms for mutual unwinding and studying. 

Getting into Scratch Academy typically meant that everybody was at least good at everything, of course, but their various strengths become immediately apparent. Anything involving essays seemed to be Rose’s forte, Jade excelled at every science, John worked well with numbers, and Dave had an aptitude for military tactics that would have made his brother proud. There was not much knowledge that collectively escaped all four of them, even if the academic fortes of some proved more useful than others’. 

They were issued basic guns on the second day, to be worn at all times, but fired only in the event of an emergency or during afternoon target practice. The practice itself, though highly anticipated by all members of the freshman class, was met with mixed results. John found that he did fine so long as the target didn’t move, but he found himself unable to anticipate the motions of a moving target. He was relieved to find that he wasn’t the only one having trouble, however – Rose took too long to aim, and Dave was too eager to shoot to take the time to try. 

Jade, on the other hand, could hit a fly off of an apple from 200 meters away.

“No surprise, there,” said their instructor after Jade’s performance on the second day of training. “Last name Harley – you’ve got to be Jake’s granddaughter. I can see the familial resemblance. Bet you’re aiming be a high-ranking officer, just like he was, right?”

Jade smiled sheepishly, forced to admit that she was actually hoping to develop new types of rocket fuel. The instructor raised a confused eyebrow, then shook her head as she walked away, muttering about a waste of talent. 

Target practice was hardly the only thing drilled in the afternoon training sessions, however. It covered everything from running and marching in place to weight lifting and the ever-dreaded push ups. Though Scratch Academy was not a training facility designed to push its students to their physical limits, John still couldn’t quite muster up enough strength to please their drill instructors. 

Dave, on the other hand, was undeniably one of the best of their afternoon training sessions. He had clearly trained himself before arriving at the Academy, and now that he was here, he was not about to let himself slack off. While John was struggling to finish his final lap around the track, Dave would be running past him, running just one extra in order to “cool off.” John couldn’t help but think that the more accurate phrase was “show off.”

Dave also did incredibly well at the practice sparring matches on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was smaller than many of the other students, including John himself, but what Dave lacked in size he made up for in sheer force. He was already gaining a bit of a reputation among the class as one of the best fighters, though whether that attention was set to become admiration or envy was yet to be seen. The only classmate to have won decisively against him was Jade, and that was primarily because she knew where he was most ticklish. The match had ended quickly; it only took a wink and a set of wiggling fingers for Dave to forfeit right out.

John could at least take comfort in the fact that Rose did just as poorly as he did during physical training, but his comfort was short-lived. Even if she was decidedly average at physical sparring, there was hardly a student there who would dare attempt to match her wit. She ruled every classroom. If there was ever a lull in the lecture, she would be ready with the perfect question to prompt discussion. If she chose to answer a question herself, it could be assured that her response would be eloquent and well-thought, if not entirely concise. She even managed to stump the teachers on occasion, pointing out inconsistencies in textbooks and lecture notes. 

“Surely,” she’d say, “if this inter-stellar communications technology was developed in the late 2090s, the debacle near Saturn’s rings in 3001 could have been altogether avoided, correct? They’d have seen the ships coming from lightyears away.” 

Rumors already ran rampant as to whom Doctor Scratch would pick as his protégé from the freshman class, and Rose’s name was among those most frequently mentioned. John broached the subject once during dinner. “You hoping that the Doc will pick you as his favorite student?” he asked. “I think you’re impressing the teachers enough at least.” 

Rose quirked her lips and responded, levelly, “There are many other qualified students at this school. It would be an honor should I be chosen over them.” A non-committal answer; John didn’t bother asking again.

All in all, John wasn’t entirely sure what sort of skill he brought to their dinner table. He had yet to do anything to make himself enemies, but nobody whispered behind their hands about the great things he would accomplish, either. The most notable thing he’d done had been solving a particularly difficult Calculus proof in front of the class, but nobody noticed him for it. What good was a formula when your troops were surrounded by trolls at all angles?

But it didn’t matter, he told himself. What mattered was that he was going to spend four really great years together with his friends. And after that he would still have a great life, getting a well-paying job somewhere, and maybe he would even start a family. His portrait wouldn’t end up in the front hall of the school with those of his friends, but that was fine. There was no reason to aim higher than he was destined to go.

The only class all four of them shared was Military History, taught by Mr. Slick. It was generally described as one hour of hell every Tuesday and Friday morning as it usually amounted to Mr. Slick sitting at his desk after grunting some vague instructions about which textbook pages to read. Popular opinion was that he held his position as a teacher solely because of his big accomplishment in the war – going into hand-to-hand combat with a troll and living to tell the tale. He didn’t come out entirely whole, but he bore the scar over his missing eye like a badge of honor and his only complaint about the prosthetic was how difficult it was to get the blood out after stabbing. He was undoubtedly an impressive man, but not as impressive a teacher.

Therefore, it came as a pleasant surprise when, during the fifth class, Mr. Slick walked into the room and told them to get off of their “sorry asses so they could go and see something, Doc’s orders.” There were a few confused looks among the students, and even Rose had to raise an eyebrow. But he paid little notice to their confusion and instead stepped right back outside, with the implication that they follow. Nobody was about to disobey him, so slowly, the class filed out after him and into the hallway. Mr. Slick only cast a quick glance to make sure they were following before he continued on.

He led them out into the courtyard of the Academy, decorated sparingly with flowers and marble statues. To the north sat the classroom building, to the east were the dorms and dining halls, the west held the training grounds and gyms – three buildings which the freshmen were all already intimately familiar with. But today, they were led to the southern-most building, which was innocuous but for the sign reading “APPROVED PERSONAL ONLY” placed over the only entrance. Of the many orders students were expected to follow, one of the highest on the list was avoiding this building at all costs. It was used for official military business – no students allowed.

Yet here they were. John glanced back to Rose, wondering if she was as interested by this turn of events as he was, but she was doing her best to look impassive. By looking at her, John might have guessed they were simply in for a stroll at the park. He turned back to the front, somewhat disappointed, only narrowly avoided bumping into Dave as he did so. 

When they reached the front of the building, the class hung back a few feet, still uncertain that they were really supposed to be here. Slick paid no heed to their hesitation, however. He swiped his ID card at the door, and only paid them a glance back to say, “Keep your mouths shut. You breathe a word of what goes on in here to anybody, you’ll be lucky to be expelled.” Then the door swung open, and they were left no other option but to shuffle on inside.

The inside of the building was nothing like the inside of the Academy. The hallways here were lined in a dull, heavy-looking metal, and there was not a single window to the outside. The lights along the ceiling did little to give the place an inviting, welcoming glow. Still, Slick led them onward. 

John couldn’t help but take in every detail of the place; knowing that this was top secret only made even the mundane exciting. Each closed door was labeled, giving the faintest indication of what might lay behind it. “Ammunition development,” said one. “Rocket storage,” said another. And so it continued down the line and around the bend in the hall – Artificial Intelligence, Deadly Neurotoxin, Nanotechnology. There seemed to be no end to them, each title more interesting than the last, yet Slick passed by each and every one, which begged the question.

What were they here to see?

Surely it was something big, or else Doctor Scratch wouldn’t have ordered Mr. Slick to bring them here. Was it a weapon? A new training program? John doubted it – after all, a training program would have best been enacted in one of the gyms, and a weapon could surely be brought to the students rather than the other way around. What could possibly be worth the effort? John had no answers, and though he wanted to ask Rose, who usually had good theories about this kind of stuff, the atmosphere in the hallway was almost suffocating. He felt as if asking a single question might get him shot on the spot, so he kept his mouth shut tight.

The class continued down the hallway, all the way until the end, whereupon Slick opened another door with his keycard and led them down the stairwell. The sound of each footstep reverberated off the close walls, and the sound was almost deafening against the backdrop of stifled conversation. After two flights of stairs, they finally reached another door, made of the same dull metal as the walls, labeled “Holding Cells.” 

This door led into a dark, cold hallway, lined with holding cells, just as the sign had promised. There were six on each side of the hall, and each was covered with thick glass that both sealed the cell and allowed a clear look at what was inside. Roughly half of the cells were empty, but after taking a good look at the occupants of the other half, it was clear why Doctor Scratch had allowed the class a visit.

Mr. Slick crossed his arms, flesh over metal, and grimaced. “These are the rest of the trolls that got apprehended couple of weeks ago. Doc wanted to have you see them, as a follow up to... some shit about learning about the enemy.” He shrugged with his human shoulder; talking was clearly not a strong suit of his.

A girl near the back of the hall raised her hand, somewhat tentatively. Slick rolled his eye, making a show of disdain of having to take a question, but he nodded toward her anyways. 

“Is it safe to be here with trolls?” she asked. “What if they break out? We haven’t learned anything about fighting them yet.” 

Slick strolled over to the nearest occupied cell. Sitting inside was a troll that appeared to be male, with shaggy hair and small, nubby horns. He looked up as Slick approached and bared his teeth – a mess of fangs. Their teacher was not deterred however, and he pounded on the glass with his metal fist. It didn’t leave so much as a scratch, though the troll inside looked spitting mad, and muttered a few curses under his breath in his own language.

“This is reinforced with nanotechnology – stuff is stronger than steel.” He looked back at the class with his remaining eye, a cruel, crooked smile spreading across his face, as though he were challenging them somehow. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Safe as can be.”

There was a moment’s hesitation to see if there would be any more direction, but slowly the students began to break off into small groups and look into the cells. John quickly caught the eye of Dave, Rose, and Jade, and the four of them slowly meandered their way to the end of the corridor, where it was generally less crowded. The last cell on the left was empty, but the one to their right was occupied by a beast of a troll, stooped over a bench. The four of them pressed in close to get a better look. 

The troll inside was terrifying – nothing like the small, trembling girl from orientation. He was large, heavily muscled, and one of his horns had been snapped off in what was likely a vicious battle. Though John had been a little doubtful when Doctor Scratch had claimed that the small troll in orientation could kill everybody in the room, he had absolutely no doubt that this one, if set free on a group of humans, could most certainly wreak havoc.

For now, however, the troll sat on small bench allotted to prisoners, his head hung in apparent shame. He turned slightly to look at them as they approached, but otherwise made no outward signs that he knew or cared he was being watched. There was no gnashing of teeth like the troll Mr. Slick had antagonized, no sign of fear or disdain. Simply a glance, then indifference. 

“This is boring,” Dave declared, and he rapped his knuckles across the transparent wall of the cell. No response. “And pointless. The hell are we supposed to get from looking at trolls?”

Jade grinned, offering, “Well, obviously it’s really important that we take notes on their hair styles.”

John jumped in to the conversation, a smile splitting across his face. “Yeah, you’ve gotta pay real close attention! A troll’s haircut determines their skill in battler. If you pay attention now, it might save your life!” At this, John began to pull at a few strands of his own hair with a wide-eyed expression that made Jade giggle into her hand. Even Rose couldn’t quite suppress a small smirk. 

“Oh yeah, how dumb of me,” Dave continued in a deadpan. He wasn’t quite grinning like the rest of his friends, but he wasn’t wearing his usual frown, either. “Everybody knows that trolls with mullets are the most dangerous. You see one of those fuckers, you better be ready to run.”

Already bored with the troll in the first cell, the four slowly moved on to the next, while discussing the most deadly hairstyles. The conversation drew to a sudden halt, however, when they reached the next cell, down one and across the hall from the massive troll. 

“Man, look at that pathetic motherfucker.” Dave tapped on the glass again, but there even less response from the troll inside than there had been from the last one. He simply stared intently at the floor, acting as though they weren’t even there. 

“Is he supposed to be a clown or something?” Jade asked, pushing herself up close to the glass. 

“Ugh, I hope not.” John grimaced. “I hate clowns.” 

“The face-paint is intriguing, however,” Rose said, bringing a hand to her chin, a curious eyebrow raised. “I wonder if it’s ceremonial? Or perhaps it’s a symbol of hierarchy. Do you suppose he might be their leader?”

“Hope not, for their sakes,” Dave said. He pounded on the glass this time, still with no response. “Doesn’t look like he’s right in the head.” A pause. “Then again, suppose none of them are really are.” They began to walk down to the next occupied cell, passing a few classmates that were headed the other direction.

“If I were them, I’d be using that really muscle-y guy as a leader,” John said. “I mean, I would look up to him if I were a troll.” 

“And I suppose his resemblance to a certain street-hard convict with a heart of gold has nothing to do that hypothetical admiration?” Rose questioned, cocking an amused eyebrow. John grinned.

“Well, maybe. But come on, there are worse reasons to pick a leader!” 

They stopped in front of the third occupied cell, and there was a moment of silence before Jade finally spoke. “Actually, I think she might be the leader.” 

She was pretty, for a troll. Though the others they’d seen so far had appeared rather disheveled, hunched over, or on edge, she sat up straight, shoulders back, hands folded primly across her lap. Her hair was long and violently curled, but it looked as though she had gone through the effort to maintain the hairstyle during her time in captivity. She looked like the kind of troll that could be troll royalty, if such a thing even existed. 

Rose cocked her head to the side, smirk fading into a ponderous frown. “She certainly doesn’t seem the type to be a warrior,” she admitted. “It’s interesting, really.”

John looked away from the troll to focus his attention on Rose. “How do you mean?”

“Well, with a group so small, you would expect-” Whatever Rose was about to say was quickly swallowed by a commotion coming from in front of the only cell they had not looked in, second from the front of the hall. A group of guys, known to be a little overenthusiastic during the afternoon sparring matches, had taken to pounding on the glass, and the troll inside had stood up as though to combat them. 

“Man, look at this freak!” said the brawniest of the boys, leaning forward so that his nose was almost touching the glass. “It’s got like ten pupils in one eye – how do you even see like that?”

“Guess that’s what happens when an alien fucks its sister,” commented another, eliciting high fives and a few chuckles from the other students. 

Curious, John, Rose, Dave, and Jade made their way over to the front of the cell to catch a glimpse of the troll inside. This one was also clearly female, through she looked somewhat more haggard than her comrade in the previous cell. Her long hair fell in clumps around her shoulders and, much as the boys had claimed, one of her eyes had more pupils than any eye had business housing. 

The way she held herself was clearly hostile, as though she could understand what they were saying to her face. Her shoulders were hunched, her fists clenched, and she bared her fangs – surely a terrifying sight, but nobody was threatened by it with the thick glass separating them. The troll only seemed frustrated by this fact, and though she made a few false starts towards those standing in front of her cell, she knew just as well as they that it was pointless. 

Frustrated, she resorted to pacing short distances, back and forth, turning sharply at the end to give a glare to those in the hallway. She was like a caged lion, dangerous and powerful. Unlike a lion, however, she was just as intelligent as those watching her, and after one more deafening pound on the glass, her eyes flashed with an idea. She stopped pacing and turned face her tormentors, a fanged grin across her face. In a slow, deliberate motion, she placed the tips of her fingers to her temple, and she stared confidently at the boys on the other side of the glass.

There was a moment of apprehension, but after several seconds, nothing had happened. The atmosphere relaxed once again. “What the hell is it even doing?” asked the boy closest to the glass, matching her grin. “Is that supposed to intimidate us?” 

He leaned forward slightly, pressing his nose to the glass, and opened his mouth for another retort. Before he had the chance to quite suddenly, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped forward, his face dragging slowly down against the glass as he slowly sunk to the ground. In another setting it might have been comical, but the troll laughed a wicked cackle from behind the glass, and the assembled students quickly backed away. 

For a moment, nobody dared move to see if the boy was alright, and John couldn’t blame them. He’d never heard of a troll that could kill with her mind before; the species had always seemed much more hands-on than that. But perhaps this was what Doctor Scratch had meant by continuing their education on the enemy. Was this the lesson? Trolls were dangerous even if they were contained? It seemed a pretty extreme price to pay for a second lesson.

John’s attention was diverted as Rose began to push past him, wading through the assembled crowd to reach the center of attention. The other students let her pass, more than happy to let somebody else take the risk of getting close to the troll. But Rose only gave the alien a cursory glance before she knelt on one knee to take the fallen boy’s pulse. 

There was a second of hushed silence. Finally, Rose spoke. “He’s sleeping.” As she stood again, the boy’s light snoring began to echo through the hallway. It was almost comical, but only a few people dared a nervous chuckle. Nobody dared to crack jokes like they had before.

Mr. Slick, finally noticing the change in behavior of his students, marched forward, his single eye narrowed as the class cleared a path for him. “What’s going on?” he demanded. The question was met with mostly silence; nobody was keen on answering, with Rose the predictable exception. She stood with an impassive look.

“One of the trolls,” and here, she nodded towards the troll in the cell, who looked rather proud of herself, “appears to have mental powers which allow her to force sleep upon humans from a distance. After some antagonism, she demonstrated this on our classmate. He appears to be fine, though I would advise caution with allowing students near the trolls from now on.” A pause, then a hastily added, “Sir.”

Mr. Slick’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked from Rose to the troll, then back to Rose. “It did what now?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his composure.

Rose repeated herself. “The troll can apparently put humans to sleep at a distance. I take it she did not demonstrate this ability before?” 

“Like hell it hasn’t,” he growled, prosthetic fist clenching and unclenching. The class stood there, waiting for orders. For something to do other than stand next to a cell with a psychic troll. Finally, he shook his head, muttering a few choice words under his breath and something that sounded like “Gotta take this up with the Doc.” He turned to leave, but he quickly turned back to the class, still arranged in a fractured semi-circle. “Do whatever you want; just get out of here. Don’t say a thing about this to anybody.” 

He didn’t have to say it twice. As soon as they had to OK to go, most of the students made a bee-line for the exit. John was ready to follow them, but he held back for Rose, who continued to stand next to the unconscious boy. Dave and Jade also held back, though neither of them seemed eager to stay behind in either. Slick sent a one-eyed glare at them, willing them to speed up so he could leave as well. Rose ignored him for the time being, and she looked down at the boy lying next to her.

“Somebody should bring him to the infirmary, don’t you think?” she asked, addressing John, Dave, and Jade. “I don’t suppose you would help me carry him out? I do not have the physical strength required of me to lift a classmate twice my size up two flights of stairs and across a courtyard.”

John exchanged a look with Jade and Dave. He definitely had other things he’d rather do with his time than carry some unconscious classmate to the infirmary. But Rose was his friend, and John was not about to saddle her with this duty alone. He nodded to Dave and Jade, then smiled.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But I call holding the feet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this took a really long time. I think I have parts of this chapter memorized from reading it over so many times. Haha.
> 
> Hopefully the third chapter will not take nearly as long to complete.
> 
> Anyways, thank you once again to Aloice for beta-ing! I pale to think of what this chapter would have looked like without your assistance.


End file.
